


girls like girls (better than boys do)

by ravenreyamidala



Category: Penelope (2006)
Genre: Happy Ending, I like them, fuck jessica wilhern, gay au? gay au, no one dies, probably puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenreyamidala/pseuds/ravenreyamidala
Summary: Penelope is a secret. Everyone doesn't know that-- that's the point of a secret after all. She has secrets of her own, though, just bursting to come out.





	1. too scared of what she'll see (somebody holding me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatHawkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatHawkins/gifts).



> So in 2016? I watched Penelope for the first time with a bunch of buds, and we all agreed that men were the actual pigs in the story, and that any other gender would accept Penelope, snout and all. And so the idea for this AU was born. And I'm posting it! Finally! *kicks the fact that it's a year and a half later into a dusty corner* Ignore that, it wasn't important.

“I’m so tired of all of this,” sighed Penelope, clutching her mug of raspberry tea more tightly.

“I would be too, doll. It’s been like what, five years?” said Wanda, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the table behind her and using it to top off her own cup of black tea. She set it down on the table, inches away from Penelope’s cup.

“Seven,” said Penelope mournfully, slumping so her head rested on her arms while she stared at the bottle, eye going cross-eyed with the effort of looking at it.

Wanda contemplated her cup of tea before reaching for the bottle and taking a long chug from it. Penelope’s face tilted upwards as she watched the way the smooth flawless line of Wanda’s throat swallowed down the alcohol. She was still staring when Wanda put the bottle down and only stopped when Wanda raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. Penelope blushed and hastily drew her eyes away. Wanda leaned back in her chair, eyeing Penelope critically.

“What?” said Penelope defensively, hand going to rub the nape of her neck.

“Oh nothing. Just that I can’t believe it took me this long to realize you’re into girls,” Wanda said, nonchalantly, taking a sip from her tea, making a face at the taste as she did. Penelope didn’t notice as she immediately sat up, too caught up in the pounding of her ears as she realized— _of course_. And then more panicking, as she realized the one person who couldn’t ever know.

“Wanda, you can’t tell my mom,” she whispered desperately. Wanda looked at her, defiance written into every angle of her face, before she softened, seeing the utter panic in Penelope’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t dare Penelope. But you know that it’s going to come out sooner or later,” Wanda told her gently.

Penelope shrugged, looking away from Wanda, avoiding eye contact. She crossed her arms and rested them atop the table as she contemplated the grain of the wood that composed the dining room table.

Wanda took Penelope’s hand in hers.

“Penelope. Look at me. You’re going to have to tell her sooner or later. You’ve already spent all your life hiding. Aren’t you sick of it?”

As Penelope steadily met Wanda’s serious, imploring look, she thought _I’m fucked._

* * *

 

“I’m tired of this Mother! No man’s going to want me looking the way I do, and you know it,” snapped Penelope.

“Oh honey, I know there’s someone out there who knows that you are not your face! And if they know they can break the curse, they’ll happily accept it,” said Jessica Wilhern, her well-maintained if slightly hysterical mother. Despite the sheer panic in her voice, Jessica’s carefully bleached hair was precisely coiffed, blazer impeccably set on her perfectly proportioned shoulders despite how intently she was cutting up her scone.  

“I’m so tired of these…these…boys running away from me. We get along so well until they see my face,” said Penelope, looking away from her mother.

“Well of course, sweetheart, that’s only natural. And it’s your fault for showing your face too soon. You have to lure them in first, get them really trusting and lovesick and so interested they don’t care about…well, they don’t care about anything else!” Jessica said, eyes still focused on cutting the ideal bite-sized piece of her blueberry scone.

Penelope stared at her cereal (with marshmallows, but without milk) for the rest of breakfast, unable to eat, just waiting until she could get away from her mother.

Of course, there was no getting away from her mother. There were German lessons followed by etiquette lessons then the morning lessons were concluded with beauty lessons, wherein Penelope learned just how to do her makeup to downplay her snout and make her face look thinner than it was, as well as apply a perfect natural highlight.

As she applied lip liner, using a handheld mirror to focus solely on her lips, Penelope wondered what the point of it all was. No amount of contouring would magically fix her hideousness. No amount of contouring could make her mother love her.

* * *

 

As Penelope bantered with this suitor, she wondered why he hadn’t skedaddled with the rest of the other boys. He was the most attractive person she’d ever seen, and she caught herself wondering what it would be like to kiss those perfect lush lips, what it would be like to fall in love with a man, to be normal, to not be a freak with a pig snout.

Maybe-- maybe she could be normal. Maybe she wasn’t destined for a life of being on the outside. The proof that maybe she wasn’t as gay as she thought was here; if she was attracted to men, life would be simpler.  Not easy of course-- life would never be easy for a girl with a pig’s snout, but at least she wouldn’t be the lesbian with a pig’s snout.

She wondered what would happen if she revealed herself. This suitor seemed better than the rest, more sensible, pilfering tendencies aside. She watched him examine his face in the mirror, watched him focus on his eyebrows-- oddly thin for a man-- and smooth his hands down his flawless jawline.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” she asked suddenly, loud in the quietness of the library, but he didn’t startle.

“I knew it,” he said triumphantly,  “I knew that you were there.“

“Yeah, I’ll be back” he said.

It seemed to Penelope as if fireworks had gone off and somehow, somewhere, choruses were singing.

_Glory to me_ , she thought, _glory to me._

* * *

 

 She caught herself wondering what she should wear, even though she wasn’t sure she would show herself to him. She knew he definitely wasn’t going to see her underwear, but she still eyed the lacy underthings that her mother had forced upon her.

That’s not to say all the things she thought were happy. She thought about how maybe he just wanted her money, and her heart sank, because it meant he couldn’t break the curse (not because she had fallen for him. Definitely not.)

As she shaved her legs, she considered whether he would have sex with her, even with the snout. Maybe he could wear a blindfold, she contemplated. The magazines her mother had her read said that that was a good way to spice up a couple’s sex life, so maybe he’d even enjoy it more that way. But she’d miss seeing the liveliness in his blue eyes that way, the spark that made him so interesting to her.

She found herself hoping, for the first time in a long long time, that this would finally be her happy ending.


	2. i'm just curious (is this serious)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second meeting with Max. This'll definitely end well.

She watched him slap his cheeks and grunt, then pace nervously. Curiously, he tried to play one of the frog-shaped knick-knacks in the curios cabinet. 

“Do you play?” she asked, her voice projecting from the speaker with a burst of static, startling him. 

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he said, laughing nervously. 

“Do you play?” she repeated. 

“The frog? No, no, although I always meant to pick it up,” he joked. She was slightly distracted by the quirk of his mouth as one-half smiled, wanting to kiss that beautifully smug grin off his face.

“But you do play something,” she said shrewdly. 

“What makes you say that?” he said, nervous, no longer all smiles. 

“What do you play?” she replied. 

He walked towards her mirror, serious for the first time. She worried that maybe she had hit a sore spot for him and opened her mouth to retract her question when he opened his. Again, she was distracted, so she was surprised by what he said next-- one word. 

“Guess,” he said. 

And somehow he knew where her eyes were behind the one-way mirror and was able to meet them with his. So she was honestly surprised when Jake the butler starting setting up instruments in the room. 

She laughed and giggled as he made his clumsy, endearing way through each of the instruments in turn, something deep in her  warming at his choice of song--  _ you are my sunshine _ . 

“Ok, stop, stop,” she finally surrendered, laughing as she did. Her stomach muscles hurt from all the laughing she had done-- she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. 

As he dismissed the other musicians, he turned to her. 

“Enough about me,” he said, his grin wide and inviting, “What you do play?” 

She felt herself warming further. Usually none of the men that came wanted to hear about her life and her interests: all they ever wanted to talk about was their life. 

“Chess,” she said, smirking. Dad always let her win, and Mom insisted it wasn’t ladylike to play war games, so maybe she’d finally get a challenge. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, grinning. He did a lot of it. His face came alive when he did. She found herself hoping to be the cause of many more of his grins. 

“Oh, so you’re a strategist,” he teased, bringing over the chessboard to the mantle of the fireplace. 

“I dabble,” she said coyly. 

It was only a few moves in when she realized he was amazingly bad at chess. Maybe her dad didn’t actually let her lose: maybe all blue blood males were so used to winning but were actually just terrible at the game and dependent on the pity of their opponent to win. 

“Why is that so funny?” as he snorted in response to her interest in horticulture. 

“No, plants are great. I just thought of you, as like, a cop. You’ve the whole interrogation thing down,” he joked. 

“Shut up. It’s your moved,” she replied, amused despite herself. 

He really was bad at chess. 

“So, beer. You’ve never had a beer?” he said slyly. 

“I’ve had a beer,” she protested. 

“On tap?” 

“No, not on tap,” she said, shaking her head. Was that weird? She didn’t know. She stored that thought away for future perusal. 

“Well, then you’ve never had a beer,” he stated as he moved the knight. 

“Your knight can’t do that,” she pointed out. 

“My knight?” he asked in confusion. 

He didn’t even know the names of the pieces. How strange, but endearing. 

“The horse,” she explained. 

“Alright,” he accepted, moving the piece back. He cast a quick look over his shoulder before leaning in towards the glass. 

“Hey, how about you and me heading down to the Cloverdilly pub right now,”

“The Cloverdilly pub?” she repeated. 

“Yeah. Best beer, best blues, some of the best beer bums in town,” he said. 

She furrowed her forehead, biting her lip. She didn’t like having to say it, but there was no way she could go to the pub. 

“Thanks. Maybe later, when I can actually get an ID” she said simply. 

He looked over his shoulder again, before leaning in even more. 

“Penelope, come on,” he whispered. 

She didn’t reply, contemplating it. 

“Hey,” he said a little louder, rapping the glass, “Come on, you gotta get out of there sometime.”

She was silent. Guess now was the time for perusing the thought. They both sat in silence, and she watched him. Watched how his face fell, as he leaned into his hand. And how he tried to console her--and maybe himself-- with his next words. 

“Ah, y’know, truth is, you’re not...you’re not missing much,” he muttered. 

“Really? The Cloverdilly pub sounds fun,” she said, smiling in reassurance, forgetting he couldn’t see her. 

“Yeah. But aside from that.”

“And the street fairs? I hear they sell really cool stuff right on the street,” she continued, wistfully. 

He leaned in. 

“You know, the vendors themselves are pretty cool, too,” he confided. 

“Oh, and the park?” she enthused. 

“The park is great,” he agreed, “I used to spend every weekend there, just hanging on a bench writing stupid love songs, people watching.” 

“Used to? You don’t do that anymore?” she wondered. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. 

“What are you doing instead?” she questioned. 

He swallowed subtly, flicking his eyes away and then back. 

“Well, beating you at chess,” he retorted, moving his piece. 

She protested, and he defended his move. She tried to explain why he couldn’t win. 

“Well, once the queen’s dead, the king’s useless,” she said. 

He paused, confused. 

“What’s that about?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully, “Maybe he’s too depressed to fight. He really love her, you know.” 

He thought for a second, before chuckling. 

“Yeah I can see that,” he said, looking directly at her face. 

“My queen to yours. Checkmate,” she said. 

“You got me,” he admitted.

* * *

 

As Max played the piano the next day, Penelope marveled at his fingers, the dexterity of them, even though it was clear he hadn’t gotten that particular flexibility from playing piano. No, he had gotten it from doing something else. She wondered what precisely what had made his fingers so dextrous. 

Then she just looked him. The delicious lines of him, his floppy hair that was probably so very soft, the way he slumped ever so slightly as he sat on the bench. And before she knew it, she had crept up behind him, and was correcting his fingering. (Of course she didn’t take the moment to press her torso against his back. Of course not. She just wanted to correct his fingering. Not touch his hands or his back or anything like that.) 

For a moment it seemed perfect. Then he looked up at her and threw himself backwards. She gasped and wondered if this was when it all came crashing down. 

It was quiet. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what she could say or do to...do anything. She hadn’t realized how desperately she had wanted him until this moment, where she saw herself losing even this unexpected last bit of hope. He stared at her. She let him. He reached up to touch her snout, and she could hear her breaths. She couldn’t control them. 

At the last moment, he jerked his hand down and turn around. 

“Shit,” he exclaimed. 

“I’m a monster,” she realized, running away. 

“No, no, you’re not. Penelope!” he replied.

“No!” he called after her as she ran out of the room. She ran towards the living areas, where she nearly collided with Wanda and her mother. 

“Penelope!” her mother said frantically. She exchanged a quick glance with Wanda, who went off to supervise Max. She followed Penelope. 

“Darling, do not, please, do not,” pleaded Jessica. 

Penelope whirled around to face her. 

“I told you! I told you,” wailed Penelope. 

“No,  _ you _ ran! It was you this time,” Jessica pointed out. 

“He just stood there, staring at me. No one’s ever just stood there before,” Penelope continued. 

“Did you give the poor boy a chance to adjust? I mean, put yourself in his shoes...it’s a lot to accept,” Jessica said. 

“Ms. Wilhem, he left, I couldn’t stopped him,” said Wanda as she entered the dining room. 

Jessica and Wanda ran after him. Penelope sulked. Then just as quickly as he had gone he came back, screaming her name. 

“Max?” she screamed back.

“There’s something I need to tell you!” he hollered back. 

“HE’S A SPY WORKING FOR LEMON. THE REPORTER WHO FORCED ME TO BURY YOU,” shouted Jessica. 

“You said I was cremated,” replied Penelope, confused. 

“That too,” blustered Jessica. She turned to Max. 

“I hope you were well paid. You just lost a fortune,” she accused. 

“Wait, he’s still a blue blood. He could break the curse,” Wanda interjected. 

Penelope has reached the floor right above where Max was standing as this point. She stopped and looked down at him. She took a deep breath. 

“Max, I know that this face repulses you, and I--I wouldn’t dream of asking you to accept it,” she started as she walked towards the stairs to his floor. 

“No, no, Penelope,” he interrupted. 

She continued, heedless.

“But this isn’t me. The real me is inside here somewhere, just waiting to get out. And you can make that happen,” she pleaded. 

“Once the curse is broken, I’ll be just like anybody else,” she said. 

“What if the curse isn’t broken? What if...the curse can never be broken?” he asked, afraid of the answer. 

“Then I’ll kill myself. I promise,” Penelope stated, as if she hadn’t just said she would kill herself. 

“I promise. I will,” she said, desperately, “Marry me, Max. Marry me! You’re my only hope.” 

He looked at her. Walked towards her. Looking into her eyes the entire time, he hesitated before saying his next words. 

“I can’t,” he said, sounding sorry. 

Penelope could feel her heart breaking. She steeled herself. 

“Get out,” she said quietly, turning away. She sank to the stair beneath her and leaned her forehead on the bannister and wept. When her mother came back and started plotting, she closed her ears. Stood up. Walked away. 

She didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are great, and help me love myself.


End file.
